Please sleep, my darling, sleep
Your cry for inspiration
never reaches ears on distant stars
and every night our lonely planet
slides across the universe
And I won't pretend I understand
-------

Yeah, sleep.

Like that could solve all of our problems.

But I don't know; I think I'm beginning to get the hang of living.

God knows, I kinduv really hate it at times, and sometimes on impulse I wish it would just shut up and go away and leave me alone; but in a sense I'm glad that wishes don't always come true, because on second thoughts, Six Feet Under wouldn't be the most fun place to be on Earth, either.

Still, I kinduv sortuv miss life as I knew it, too.

I've changed, so much, and I think if I were to meet the me from a few years back; I probably wouldn't think much of her.
And I reckon the yester-me wouldn't like me all that much, either.

The yester-me wouldn't have done a lot of things I've done, either.

1. The yester-me wouldn't have known what eyeliner was. Is. Whatever.
2. The yester-me wouldn't even have attempted to tint my hair brown with henna; and consequently been extremely annoyed when aforementioned henna did nothing but turn hair a darker shade of...black.
3. The yester-me wouldn't have joined canoeing. Um, let alone NJC canoeing.
4. The yester-me pinned her fringe up. Waaaaaay up. With, like, a hairband, and stuff.
(Also, the yester-me never received any threats to have her fringe lobbed off.)
5. The yester-me wouldn't have gone around revealing weird bits of her yester-self on her blog. She'd probably have been oblivious, or whatever.

Yeah, and did I mention?
The yester-me so would have absolutely nothing to do with any semblance of sporting activities. I bet my 1.6 km timing back then was like two times my current 2.4 km timing. (okay, prone to exaggeration. Take with a pinch of salt, please; give me some credit, I wasn't THAT bad.)
Oh yeah, and what pain threshold?

The Now Me... is weird, yeah, and she's got her hang-ups, (like everyone else);

but now she's learnt the art of hanging tight and moving on.

She knows what pain feels like- real pain;
excruciating, blinding, white-hot pain,
the kind that catches your breath and forces it back down into your lungs when you're gasping for air, grasping for hope, and groping for something- anything- to pull you through.

She's learnt what it means to hurt,
so bad it's all you can do just to curl over and hold your sides and breathe,
She's learnt how to breathe,
She's learnt how to battle through the hurt one breath at a time;

She's realized how broken our generation is; how broken we all are--
(look at all the lonely people), and
she's discovered that all of us hurt, but are still capable of being beautiful.

She's learnt that friends might always be there for you, yeah, but even they fall too;
and sometimes it's all you can do just to stay upright and mobile when everyone else is falling all around you.


She's learning how to live.

And yeah, it's not easy, for something so simple-sounding; but she'll get there.

Yeah, the Now Me could probably lay the yester-me flat on her back;

and who knows?

The Now Me could probably teach the yester-me a thing or two.